


Brave

by AhaMarimbas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Death from Old Age, Family, Funeral, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healer Ron Weasley, Hogsmede Cemetery, M/M, Major Character Death (of old age), Memories, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhaMarimbas/pseuds/AhaMarimbas
Summary: Draco had never been the brave one- that had always been Harry's job.





	Brave

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to OllieMaye for the wonderful Beta work!
> 
> The Harry Potter universe and it's characters belong to J.K. Rowling, I'm just taking you a bit farther into the future.

 

 

Draco opened his eyes and was very disoriented for a moment. He stared at the unfamiliar white sheets wrapped around him before remembering he was in a hotel room, alone. He closed his eyes again, knowing he wouldn't be able to get more sleep even if he wanted to. He felt more tired than when he had gone to bed, but the other side of the mattress was cold, and wasn't that something he didn't want to think about?

 

Finally summoning a bit of courage, he pulled the sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His knees groaned in protest as they took the weight of his frail body. Arthritis, the young healer had said, many many years ago. It was more common in muggles, but definitely possible in wizards. Harry had had it too, in his hands.

 

Draco stood staring out the window for a few minutes, remembering how Harry used to tease him for being a month older. "I'm married to an old codger!" he used to joke. Draco could still hear his laughter, still picture his smile as they teased each other mercilessly for over 100 years. 

 

Merlin. They had been married for 100 years. Harry had once told him that muggles didn't live nearly as long as wizards, and that the big milestone for most of them was 50 or 60. Draco had taken to wondering in the past few days, if this might have been easier if he didn't have 100 years of love to lose. But he always came to the conclusion that he wouldn't have traded his 100 years with Harry for anything.

 

He allowed himself to get lost in the little memories of Harry as he got dressed in the unfamiliar bathroom. He wished desperately that he could have been in their home, the magical cottage where they had built a lifetime of memories together. But alas, when the news broke that the saviour had closed his eyes for the last time, the world had flooded the cottage with letters, flowers, gifts, and millions of fans mourning the Hero of a Century, and it was no longer safe for Draco to be there alone.

 

Draco sighed as he buttoned up his bright yellow robes. Everyone had balked at the idea of wearing anything other than the traditional black, but it had been one of Harry's final requests. "Be happy when you remember me," he had said, smiling. "Wear yellow robes, and a bright smile."

 

Draco stared at himself in the mirror, contemplating his late husband's request. He had the yellow robes down, but he was starting to wonder how he would muster a smile when faced with today's ceremonies. He slipped on his golden watch, trying not to let it scratch against his platinum wedding ring. He was always forgetting things in his old age, but he remembered the day Harry had proposed with startling clarity. Ever the prankster, Harry had decided to mess with him.

 

_ "Draco, love, I've been thinking..." _

 

_ "About what?" _

 

_ "Well, I don't think you should be my boyfriend anymore." Draco had stared in shock. Was this why Harry had gone all out for tonight's date? The formal robes, the flowers, reservations at their favourite restaurant overlooking the valley. Was it all to appease him during their break up? _

 

_ "I would rather you be my husband instead," Harry had said, sliding the ring box across the table toward Draco, looking incredibly pleased with his little joke.  _

 

_ "You bastard! I thought you were trying to break up with me!" _

 

_ Harry had smiled sadly at that, picking up the ring and slipping it on to Draco's finger.  _

 

_ "With this ring, I promise I'll never leave you," he had said solemnly, repeating the gesture and words during their wedding less than a month later. _

 

Not for the first time in the past few days, Draco wanted to throw the ring out the window. It represented Harry's most important promise to Draco, and the only one he had ever broken.  _ "I'll never leave you." _ Bollocks. Draco was alone now, wasn't he? Harry had gone and left him, and his ring meant nothing now.

 

A knock on the door startled him out of his macabre thoughts. The ring still meant the world to him, he thought, shuffling towards the door. And Harry hadn't left at all, he scolded himself, putting a hand over his heart. He took a deep breath before opening the door.

 

"Good morning, Gramps. How did you sleep?"

 

Draco smiled at his great-granddaughter, Cassiopeia, who was holding what looked like a pastry bag and a takeaway cup of tea. She wandered into the room at his invitation, fussing over him as she sat him down to eat and started tidying up around the room. He chewed slowly on the buttery croissant, marvelling at how the young girl he used to play peek-a-boo with had grown into a confident young woman, now senior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. He noticed a discreet ring on her finger as she folded his sweater for him.

 

"That's a lovely ring," he commented quietly. "Congratulations dear."

 

She looked up at him in surprise, glancing down at the ring.

 

"It's not even on my left hand," she said in disbelief. "How did you know?"

 

"It's been a long time coming for you lovebirds. Harry and I even had a bet going, on when Jo would finally ask you."

 

"It was hardly a few hours before I got the call that he had passed," she said sadly. "I was so looking forward to telling the both of you."

 

"Harry was incredibly happy for you both. Ring or not, your love is clear to the entire world, and that's all either of us have ever wanted for our children."

 

"Thanks Gramps," she smiled, a tear running down her cheek as she leaned in to hug him. She checked her watch as she pulled back. "We'd better get going soon if we want to be on time for the viewing."

 

Draco frowned at the crumbs from croissant. He had never liked viewings and didn't understand why it was even a part of the funeral. Why did they need to see the body when the person was gone? Hermione had said something about closure and acceptance, but Harry had died in his arms—if he hadn't accepted it then, he never would. He had lain there in their bed, his head over Harry's still chest, wishing desperately to hear his heart beat one more time. After crying his eyes out, he had finally gotten up and shuffled over to the Floo, waking Ron with the news. No, this was all too real for him, without needing his husband's quiet body on display for everyone to cry over.

 

If he was honest with himself, the issue was more that he was scared of death. He didn't want to face the inevitable fact that Harry was gone, and that one day, he would be too. It didn't help that Harry had told him about what it had been like to die during the battle of Hogwarts. 

 

_ "I felt worried," _ he had said.  _ "I kept thinking of all the people I had left behind, stuck in a never ending battle who would mourn and suffer even more. I kept thinking of all the things I had wanted to do, but never did. I hadn't had sex, I hadn't graduated, I hadn't lived as a free man. I hadn't fallen in love. I felt horrible thinking that I might have missed all that." _

 

Every time Draco thought of that conversation, the feeling of dread that Harry had described crept into his heart. Had he lived his life to its fullest? Had he done everything he had ever wanted?

 

"Gramps? Let's go."

 

Draco shuffled out of the room with Cass, still wondering if he had really lived his life to its fullest. All his regrets swam to the front of his mind immediately, from taking the mark, to shying away from Harry's first attempts to court him, to declining his last promotion at St. Mungo’s in favour of retirement. Though now that he thought about it, he didn't actually regret that last one. It had allowed him to take a trip around the world for Harry’s 100th birthday, with Harry and the kids, and their kids too. Speaking of whom...

 

"Hey Papa." Draco looked up at Scorpius and a tension he hadn't realised he had been holding was suddenly released. Here was his son, his pride and joy. Back when he had no one, not even Harry, he had had Scorpius. He would never admit it, especially in front of the others, but Scorpius was definitely his favourite child.

 

Scorpius stepped forward and pulled him into a strong hug. For a man of almost 110 years old, his son was incredibly powerful. Draco wondered if it was his magic or his physical strength that gave him the appearance of a very fit man half his age.

 

"Scorpius. Good you're here. Where are Albus, and Analise and Ben?"

 

"They're already at the gardens, with James, Teddy, and Lily and her family." Draco nodded, accounting for all his and Harry's children. Albus and Scorpius had adopted Analise shortly after their wedding, and while Teddy and James had never opted to have children of their own, they had always been the “cool” uncles to Lily's brood, Jean, Laura and the twins, Matt and Katherine.

 

Draco could feel his mood lifting at the thought of seeing his family again. They all visited regularly, but it was never enough for him. He had loved spoiling his grandchildren over the years, and eventually their children as well. And of course everyone loved Pops and Gramps. 

 

"They're all here for you, Pops," he whispered to himself as he stepped out of the Floo in the funeral hall to find it packed with people. He hesitated for a moment, worried that fans had somehow been allowed in, but as Scorpius and Cass led him down the aisle to the row of seats in front, he was surprised to find that he recognised almost everyone present. His colleagues over the years from St. Mungo’s, retired aurors who had been trained with or by Harry, friends from their school years, from the children's school years, from the grandchildren's school years. Pick-up Qidditch teammates, neighbours, local shop owners from their favourite haunts. 

 

He noted that the front two rows seemed to be reserved for war heros and family. His suspicions were confirmed when he sat down in the centre of the front row, next to Hermione. She reached over quietly and squeezed his hand, and he squeezed right back. He couldn't help remembering a time when he had longed to be part of the Golden Trio, over a century ago. He had long since stopped thinking of Hermione and Ron as Harry's friends—they were the Golden Quad now. Their rivalry at school seemed insignificant in the face of the decades of adventures they had been through. Draco and Ron had been to disaster zones together as experienced healers volunteering for relief efforts around the world, Muggle and Wizarding alike. 

 

And when the two men had gotten too old for fieldwork, Draco had been by Hermione's side as she continued to draft legislation to make their nation safe and fair for all beings. The three of them had always been there to heal and save Harry from multiple conspiracies in the Auror department, and somehow had managed to convince him by the ripe age of 65 (Draco had bet it would take until 80) to leave fieldwork behind and take up teaching instead. And to cap the many accomplishments in their careers, they had their standing Wednesday and Sunday dinners, and their Friday pub nights, which had turned into trivia when Hermione's healer had told her she was officially too old to consume large amounts of alcohol.

 

He looked up as Ron approached, leaning heavily on his weathered cane. Draco was surprised to note that he looked terrible. He stumbled into his chair on Hermione's other side and nodded briefly at Draco before closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He considered saying something, even getting up and sitting next to his friend, but at that moment, a young man who Draco recognised as an old friend of Laura's stood up. 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please take your seats, we are about to begin."

 

The programme was beautiful, Draco thought, as he listened to the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and then the Minister for Magic, and then the Headmistress of Hogwarts, all talk about the impact Harry had made on the world, all the good he contributed to society. He played absently with the programme, a beautiful ivory coloured sheet of paper with his favourite picture of Harry right in the centre. Underneath it was Harry's most famous quote:

 

"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave."

 

Over the years, Harry had been quoted as saying many things. They ranged from inspirational to funny, to crude, to downright embarrassing. Draco smiled at the memory of their kids competing to see who could find the most ludicrous quote in the papers, or in any publication. He used to act annoyed by their game, but Draco knew Harry had secretly loved the teasing and attention from his kids. He had saved every ridiculous clipping they showed him in a scrapbook, hidden deep in their shared home office.

 

This one, however, hadn't originally been Harry's quote—he had read it in a Muggle history book. It was said by a man in India, years before even they were born. But that didn't matter much to the Wizarding media. As soon as one  _ Prophet _ reporter had misquoted it, it became Harry's.

 

It was a fitting quote, Draco thought. Harry had always been an advocate for love, in all senses of the word. He loved his family, he loved his friends, he loved his neighbours. He loved his colleagues, he loved his community. And he showed it, in every way. Harry had always led by example when it came to putting a little more love into the world, whether it was by standing up for someone, or cheering them up, or just passing on a kind deed. And he had always had a smile to offer, regardless of how rough his own day may have been.

 

Draco suddenly realised he must have zoned out during the speeches, for people were now moving about. There was a small line of people near the casket, hoping for one last look, one last goodbye, but most of the crowd was headed toward the door. Draco let them go, not worrying that he hadn't greeted any of them. Apparently James and Teddy had planned a reception for friends and family after the burial — he would see them then. He looked to his left, where Ron and Hermione were still seated, his head on her shoulder, sobbing quietly as she stroked his hair. Hermione gave Draco's hand a reassuring squeeze, and he squeezed back before standing up and making his way slowly to the window. He felt guilty that he hadn't been spending much time with Ron since Harry had passed, but the loss of his best friend seemed to have hit Ron the hardest. It was too much for Draco at the moment. He was guaranteed to burst into tears himself if he spent too much time facing the grief. No, he was better off focusing on his own, happy memories of Harry.

 

"Papa," came a gentle voice behind him, and he turned to find Lily standing behind him, a thick black shawl wrapped tightly around her. His face lit up at the sight of the yellow dress she wore underneath. 

 

"You wore yellow," he smiled. 

 

"Of course. It's what dad wanted."

 

Draco nodded. Not a lot of people outside their family had worn yellow clothes, but someone seemed to have had the forethought to hand out yellow daisies, which many people had pinned to their lapels.

 

"He's dressed in yellow too," she said softly. "More of a gold, actually, but it's fitting."

 

Draco's eyes widened at that. He hadn't been very involved in all these arrangements and hadn't once thought about what Harry would want to be buried in. War Heroes buried in Hogsmeade cemetery were often dressed in white, while members of the Order of the Phoenix were dressed in purple, and Senior Aurors were often buried in their garnet ceremonial robes. He was glad that whoever had made the decision hadn't decided on a single role of his, but also that they hadn't tried to dress him in some absurd rainbow. What very few people these days knew was that many of the old families also had traditions of their own. The Potter family tradition, on hold for over a century now, had been to bury loved ones in gold. Harry had been the first Potter in a few generations actually, to live past the age of 100. Draco's heart ached at the thought that such an old and loving family had almost been wiped out by a senseless war. 

 

"You should go see him," Lily said, prodding Draco out of his thoughts. "It's hard, but he looks so peaceful."

 

Taking a shaky breath, Draco nodded, and hand-in-hand, father and daughter walked up to the front. Draco hesitated before approaching the mahogany casket, intricate patterns carved along the edges. Lily waited patiently as he slowly took one, two steps forward, and gasped.

 

He had once heard that the human brain modifies people's perceptions of the world. One often remembered things differently than they actually were, in particular when there were strong emotions associated with the memories. Clearly this was one of those times. In his mind, he saw Harry as his big, strong hero, his brave protector, the guardian of his heart. How could he have forgotten, in a mere three days, that Harry had been short, much shorter than him? That he had had his fair share of wrinkles and worry lines, and that his strong jaw was slightly asymmetrical? The hardest part, however, was that his eyes were closed. Draco suddenly wished that he could get lost in the depth of his emerald eyes just one more time. It suddenly struck him that he'd never see those eyes again, the ones that had held him captive for most of his life. He'd never feel his strong Auror's arms wrapped around him again, protecting him from a world that was out to get him.

 

But Lily had been right about one thing: Harry did look peaceful. Almost like he was sleeping, except for the fact that while he was alive, even during times of rest he had been tense and alert, ready to go at any moment. Harry deserved peace, Draco thought to himself. After a lifetime of fighting, first in the war, then as an auror, always for the good of the world, he deserved to finally relax. Even if that meant he was...

 

Gone. He was gone. It hit Draco like a wave, his knees buckling, the tears falling even faster than he did. He had been doing such a good job of holding back, not letting his weakness show...

 

But that's not what Harry would have said. "A coward is incapable of exhibiting love..." Wasn't crying over his dead body a display of his love for Harry? Did that mean that it was okay to cry, brave even? Draco had never been the brave one—that had always been Harry's job. 

 

_ Harry's gone,  _ his mind offered traitorously.  _ He can't be brave for you anymore.  _

 

And so Draco cried. He leaned into his daughter, who was rubbing circles on his back and continued to cry. Three days of frustration, fear and uncertainty flowed out of him, and after a few minutes, he started to feel himself calm down. 

 

He finally sat up and was handed a handkerchief by a concerned-looking Scorpius. He took a moment to compose himself before his children helped him up off the floor, Lily dusting off his robes for him before doing the same to her dress.

 

"Let's go," Draco said quietly, not sparing a glance for the casket behind him. He didn't need to. The real Harry would always be in his memories, and in his heart.

 

They wandered out of the hall, where they found Albus, James and Teddy waiting for them. Teddy informed him that Ron and Hermione had gone on with Rose and Hugo, that they would meet them there. Draco nodded, taking hold of Lily's arm as she Apparated them to Hogsmeade.

 

They landed just outside the gates of the Hogsmeade Cemetery, where they were joined a moment later by all of Harry and Draco's other children. Draco looked up at the weathered marble gates, remembering the year they had been built, mere weeks after the war had ended. The body count had been unbelievably high once the dust had cleared from the Battle of Hogwarts, and the solution had been to build a cemetery right there in Hogsmeade to honour those who had died there. Since the plot of land had been so huge, most war heroes and their relatives, as well as most aurors who had passed on since then, had all been buried there. Of course, families could always request that their loved ones be buried elsewhere, but in the decades since it had been built, being buried in Hogsmeade cemetery had come to be considered one of the greatest honours for a witch or wizard. 

 

Draco wandered down the pathway, wondering where he might be laid to rest one day. It was customary for heroes in Hogsmeade Cemetery to have a plot reserved next to them for their spouse, but being a marked Death Eater, he couldn't see himself being very welcome here, even in death. He would probably end up in the Manor's mausoleum, next to his parents. 

 

Even as he felt himself get drawn into his dark mood, he heard someone call out "Go home, Death Eater!" He felt his family bristle around him, but he didn't dare look up, scared of the reaction of the crowds who had lined the winding road through the cemetery to say goodbye to their saviour. Keeping his head bowed against the wind, he walked on, the children falling behind as Albus stopped to consult with one of the young aurors stationed along the road to control the crowds.

 

Once again, he missed Harry terribly. No one had said things like that to him in front of Harry. He himself had barely dared to even think it when his husband was around. Harry had always stood up for him, insisting to anyone who dared suggest otherwise that Draco deserved as much respect as anyone else. Draco sighed as he finally looked up and saw the spot where he was expected to be. It was because of Harry's unfailing belief that he was innocent that Draco had never brought up the topic of his own burial with him.  He didn't need Harry fighting for him after his death as well.

 

He finally reached the end of the row, where an entire memorial had been built in Harry's honour. Draco smiled at the thought that Harry would have hated it. He remembered the time they had unveiled a new statue of him in King’s Cross station — Harry had thrown a right fit and spent the next three years petitioning to have it taken down. While he had commiserated appropriately with his husband, Draco had secretly thought it was beautiful. 

 

This time, they had somehow managed to locate an Eternal Flame, building a beautiful glass pool and placing the flame right at the center. Draco thought it was a fitting representation of Harry's spirit and the legacy he would leave behind.

 

They didn't spend long at the cemetery. It was a simple process to bury the casket and complete the memorial. A line of aurors stood in salute, sending golden sparks flaring out of their wands. The choir from the orphanage Harry used to volunteer at sang a sad hymn, breaking into tears halfway through, and finally the funeral director said a few more words, before inviting family and friends back to the reception. Those who were actually welcome to attend had already been given the location hours ago, which was under a Fidelius charm in case any of the thousands of fans surrounding the memorial overheard.

 

As friends and family slowly Disapparated around him, Draco made his way forward. He knelt in the grass, not caring about getting stains on his robes. He reached out, placing a palm flat against the cold marble. 

 

"They'll remember you, Harry," he said softly. "You're in all the history books, the folktales, the papers, the stories. But you're also in their hearts. I know you hated the attention, but this is a good thing. They all loved you, and they all learned from the example you set for them. The world is a more loving place because of you. Your legacy will last for eternity. I know you were scared the first time you died, but I hope you aren't now. You filled your purpose here, and now your soul is free. Merlin, I hope it's free."

 

He felt those pesky tears once again falling fast and warm against his skin, but at this point, he had simply accepted that today was a day of crying. He thought of the thousands of people along the road, all braving the cold, some having travelled hundreds of miles, to pay their respects to Harry. He thought of the business that had shut down for the day, some even for the week, in his honour; the choir from the orphanage who were being escorted back to Hogsmeade by a pair of aurors; the beautiful tributes people were setting up all across the country, toasting to Harry’s memory. It was poetic that the little boy who had started his life lonely and afraid had ended it with the whole world mourning his death. All Harry had wanted as a child was love, and by the end of his life, there wasn’t a single person in the world who didn’t hold him in their heart. He knew Harry wouldn't have felt worried about dying this time. This time, he had left no unfinished business behind.

 

_ He left you though,  _ his mind supplied unhelpfully.  _ He left you here to worry, to wonder, without him. _

 

Draco forced himself to stand up, doing his best to ignore the traitorous thoughts swirling in his mind.  _ YOU'RE Harry's unfinished business.  _ No. No, he was not.  _ You're nothing without him. He's probably feeling guilty about leaving you behind, even in death.  _ No, Draco insisted to himself. Harry trusted him to take care of himself. He knew Draco could do it. It was time for him to go.

 

"You look like you're arguing with yourself," came Hermione's voice, mercifully drowning out his own doubts.

 

"Just thinking," Draco said quietly. "It's funny how much death makes you think. Especially about life."

 

"That it does. Just promise me you won't overthink things. Everything that was true with Harry around still holds. You're still our best friend, and we still want to see you regularly."

 

Draco froze for a moment. He hadn't realised it until Hermione had said so just now, but part of him had been worried that that was exactly the case.  

 

"You're not just Harry's husband, Draco, as much as your relationship was a big part of your life. You are your own person, and we all love you for that. I hate that after over 100 years we still have to say it, but I hope you'll never forget. We just lost Harry. I don't want to lose you too."

 

Draco nodded, stepping forward into her embrace. He couldn't help wondering if one day he'd be stuck without her too. He couldn't imagine what the world would be like without her, or even Ron. They had been two of the most important people in Harry's life, his best friends through thick and thin, and Draco had always been incredibly grateful that they were able to give Harry that. He tried to put all those unsaid things into his hug, and somehow, he felt like Hermione had understood.

 

"Shall we head out?" he asked, offering her his arm. She smiled, and with enormous concentration, Draco managed to Apparate them to the burrow.

 

"I really need to stop letting the children shuttle me around," he said dizzily, taking a moment to recover from his sloppy Apparition. Hermione laughed as the pair walked through the kitchen into the sitting room where Matt and Katherine had everyone captivated with the story they were telling.

 

"So then he said  _ "Don't tell your Pops about this, I want it to be a surprise" _ , not realising that Pops was standing right behind him." Everyone burst out laughing at Katherine's surprisingly accurate imitation of Draco.

 

"And of course Pops had to be cheeky about it," Matt grinned. "So he sneaks up right behind grandfather and whispers  _ "They don't need to, you already did." _ and I swear to Merlin, no one's ever seen grandfather jump so high."

 

Draco blushed as everyone else laughed. He knew exactly what they were talking about—it was Harry's 100th birthday surprise, which he had gone to incredible lengths to plan, only to ruin it by not checking over his shoulder as he spoke.

 

"He did an amazing job of acting surprised," Ron pointed out. "I didn't even realize he knew."

 

"Nor did we," Scorpius chimed in, while Albus nodded from next to him.

 

"That really was a perfect week, Papa," Lily said fondly. "I still have no idea how you managed to plan a worldwide scavenger hunt, especially when you had to coordinate this lot." She gestured around the room at her family, and had a few pillows thrown at her for her trouble.

 

"Harry was worried about the fans and what they might do for such a big milestone," Draco shrugged. "I figured leaving the country was as sensible an idea as any."

 

"Dad got lucky with you, Pops," James laughed. "I don't know if anyone else would have worked so hard to protect him from the nut jobs of the world."

 

"I can't count the number of times I saw Uncle Draco distracting fans so that Uncle Harry could get away from them," Rose pointed out. "Remember that  _ Prophet _ article they wrote about it?"

 

"Harry Potter hires professional distraction: spotlight on Draco Malfoy!" the twins cried in unison as everyone started laughing again. Draco smiled as he remembered the ridiculous article that had gone into detail about Draco's tactics for diverting fans and speculated how much Harry paid him for it. It had taken a surprising amount of time for the  _ Prophet _ to catch on to the fact that they were actually dating. Harry had loved it so much that it hung in a frame above their fireplace. 

 

Now that Draco thought about it, he and Harry had collected a surprising number of newspaper articles over the years. He remembered the long, thrilling articles detailing the many cases Harry had solved, often with a very handsome picture of him in his auror uniform. There had been a fair number of articles detailing his and Ron’s adventures abroad while they were volunteering with Healers Without Borders, and later a collection of stories about his work with Hermione, advocating for elf and creature rights, for equality amongst magical beings, and once Harry had gotten involved, their work to remove corruption from the upper levels of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. 

 

There had also been a large collection of clippings of the children — James and Scorpius had both been international Quidditch stars, drawing the attention of every publication in Europe. The best articles had been of the games where they opposed each other. The family had quickly learned that attending those games meant toeing a thin line, but they had loved cuddling by the fire and reading the blow-by-blow articles detailing every bold move and every hilarious mistake. 

 

Teddy had quickly risen to the Head of the Department of Mysteries, and inspired by his father’s experiences, had made incredible breakthroughs in treatments for lycanthropy, eventually finding a cure. He’d had to work very closely with Albus on that one. Draco had always been surprised at how gifted Albus was with potions, given the rest of his family’s struggles with the subject. He was glad he had been able to encourage his curiosity at an early age—it had paid off with Albus’ record 75 potion patents.

 

Of course, Lily had swept the floor with all of them. As the youngest Minister for Magic, and the first female Minister in 100 years, she was also one of the most celebrated. Known for her kind heart and longstanding era of peace, there came a point when she became even more famous than her father. Draco smiled at how delighted Harry had been the first time they had been walking down Diagon Alley after the election — they had been mobbed by crowds as usual, but this time not a single person had paid Harry any mind. He had made a huge dinner in celebration, insisting that all the children and grandchildren attend.

 

Draco smiled as he remembered all the lovely moments in their lives. They’d been blessed with an incredibly loving family and had experienced some incredible adventures together. As Draco looked around the room, his heart swelled with love and pride at the sight of each and every member of his family. It hit him suddenly that  _ this _ was  _ his _ legacy. He had gone from being alone and scared, a teenager who thought he’d never make it out of a war, to the great grandfather in a huge, beautiful family. He had raised and taught and loved every single one of the youngsters (and not quite so young ones) in the room, and they were his life’s pride and joy. 

 

The evening stretched on, filling Draco with happiness as he and all his children shared stories and memories of Harry, of the mischief and shenanigans, the good times and the hard. It was simultaneously the most exciting and the most peaceful evening he had had in quite a while.

 

Finally, Cass wandered over to where he was settled in a large cushy armchair, trying to hide his yawn.

 

“Ready for bed, Gramps?” she asked pointedly. He chuckled, admitting defeat. It really was far past his bedtime.

 

“Fine, take me back to that blasted hotel,” he grumbled playfully.

 

“Gramps, the aurors renewed the wards on the cottage. They said you can go home as of tonight.”

 

Draco stood there for a moment, speechless. He could finally go home?

 

“Draco, will you be okay there?” came Ron’s gruff voice from beside him. Ron had been quiet all evening, but it had been reassuring to see the smile creeping onto his face throughout the evening, as they laughed and joked about Harry.

 

“Yeah mate, I think I can manage in my own home. I’m not an old rust bucket like you.”

 

Ron laughed, a real laugh for the first time in days. He stood up and pulled Draco into a surprisingly tight hug.

 

“Well then, off you go. I think it’s time for me to make my way to bed too. Take care, Draco.”

 

“Goodnight, mate.”

 

He took his time saying goodbye to everyone else as well, before letting Cassiopeia lead him out onto the porch. With a last look at the cheerful family home, they Disapparated.

 

“You’ll be okay?” Cass asked as Draco placed his palm against the front door, unlocking it.

 

“Yes, don’t worry about me. You go have fun with your  _ fiancée _ ,” he smirked.

 

Cass laughed. “Yes sir,” she joked, with a mock salute. Turning serious, she leaned in, giving him a gentle hug.

 

“Have a good night, Gramps. I love you.”

 

Draco smiled at her. “I love you too, sweetheart. Have a good night.” He hobbled through the front door as he heard the pop of her Apparition behind him.

 

Grateful to finally be back in his own home, Draco wandered around for a bit, stopping to smile at the little memories of Harry around the house. There was the notch in the wall behind the front door, from all those times that Harry had come home in an excited frenzy and slammed the front door open. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter was out of place again, scratch marks evident on the counter from the number of times it had been pushed back and forth. Draco smiled as he remembered Harry pushing him up against the counter and snogging him senseless, always knocking the fruit bowl around. It had been an accident the first two times, but once Harry had realised how much the scratch annoyed Draco, he had started doing it on purpose.

 

He wandered into their bedroom, picking up the shirt that Harry had carelessly tossed on the arm chair by the fire, the night he had passed away. It still smelled like him. Draco folded it carefully, placing it back on the chair, before wandering over to the cupboard and pulling out a pair of his own pyjamas. He went about his nightly routine, smiling sadly at Harry's toothbrush next to his own, and his bright red washcloth hanging on a hook behind the door. He would tell the children to pack Harry's stuff up soon, but for now he was happy to have everything as it was. 

 

He climbed into bed, turning the lights off with a careless flick of his wand. He sprawled out flat on his back, spreading across the bed right into what had once been Harry's side. Surprisingly, he didn't feel as cold as he had in the hotel. Their bedroom also seemed darker somehow. He stared up at the ceiling, and suddenly he realised that he could feel something else in the room with him. He glanced around, seeing nothing but shadows. He lay back down, and was suddenly able to pinpoint the feeling. He had felt the same way the night Harry had died—like there was something else in the room. He hadn't realised it at the time, as upset as he was, but now that he thought about it, Harry had always believed that Death was a real being. Technically, Harry was the Master of Death, though as far as Draco knew, he had never used that power. But surely that qualified him to know if death was a being, or just an event?

 

"I'm not scared of you," Draco said softly, not totally believing what he was saying. 

 

"Lies. Everyone fears me to a certain extent." Draco's heart was racing at the sound of thousands of voices whispering at once, swirling around him like a wind. 

 

"Harry didn't," he pointed out.

 

"Oh, he did. More than most. Definitely more than you."

 

"Now you're the one who's lying."

 

"Oh no, Draco Potter-Malfoy. He hid himself away for so long, and he hid you too. He was scared for the end. Scared of the people he thought he had betrayed, those who had died for him."

 

"He was able to hide us from you?" Draco asked, stunned at this revelation.

 

"Oh yes, Master of Death, and true inheritor of my cloak, I couldn't find him until he was ready, which was much longer than planned, I assure you."

 

"But he had no reason to be scared," Draco frowned. "He wasn't responsible for any of those deaths."

 

"No, he wasn't. But it took your love for him to finally forgive himself. If you hadn't convinced him that he deserved peace, I fear the two of you may have eluded me for centuries to come, and all your descendants too, considering how powerful he was."

 

"How did I convince him of that?" Draco wondered out loud.

 

"Think about your last conversation with him," came the whisper. "You still have some time."

 

\------------------------------

 

_ "Draco?" _

 

_ "Hmm," Draco responded sleepily, nuzzling into Harry's neck. _

 

_ "Are you mad at me?" _

 

_ Draco entwined his fingers in Harry's. "Of course not. Why would I be mad?" _

 

_ "Because I failed. So many times." Draco was surprised to hear Harry's voice crack. He lifted himself on one arm, staring at his husband. _

 

_ "Failed what?" _

 

_ "To end the war quickly. And then to solve those cases without any casualties. All my life, I've been fighting to fix the world, but people still died. I've always been one step behind.” _

 

_ Draco traced the curve of Harry’s lips with his thumb, considering his answer.  _

 

_ "No,” he said firmy. “The people who stood by and did nothing were one step behind. The people who caused those problems were many steps behind. But you, Harry, you've always been a leader. You can't save the whole world by yourself. You can't be responsible for everyone who suffered." _

 

_ "There has to be something, though," Harry insisted, and Draco could feel his husband’s frustration vibrating through his body. A single tear ran down the side of his face, and Draco kissed it away.  _

 

_ "There is something. There is initiative, and love, and bravery, and you gave so much of all those qualities to the world. You may not have been able to fix the world by yourself, but you've always empowered others to fight for themselves, for the world they want, and THAT, Harry, is the solution. The world needs to work together, and you’re the one who taught them that.” _

 

_ “But I couldn’t save them,” Harry whispered, and Draco had been alarmed to hear his voice growing faint. _

 

_ “You saved us all, Harry, if not necessarily in the ways you thought you could. Everyone has to die eventually _ _ — _ _ even you, Master of Death, can’t stop that. All you can do is accept it, and hope that after death comes peace.” _

 

_ “I know, but I still worry,” he whispered. _

 

_ Draco sighed, kissing Harry softly on the forehead. “Newt Scamander was once quoted saying that there’s no point in worrying _ _ — _ _ it only means you’ll suffer twice.” _

 

_ Harry had chuckled at that. He relaxed into the mattress, closing his eyes. One shaking hand reached out and took Draco’s.  _

 

_ “Thank you, Draco. You always make things better. I love you.” _

 

_ Draco smiled, kissing Harry softly on the lips. _

 

_ “I love you too.” _

\-------------------------

 

Draco opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. The sun was bright today!

 

He opened them again tentatively, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the bright white light persisted. He suddenly realised that he wasn't in his bed. It felt like he was lying on the ground. Had he rolled over and fallen out during the night?

 

He sat up slowly, surprised to note that his body didn't creak and groan as it usually did. He looked around, jaw dropping in shock.

 

He wasn't at home. This looked like... like King's Cross. But the statue was missing. And the whole place had a silvery glow to it...

 

He was dead. The answer came to him in a rush, and he looked around wildly, wondering what would happen next. At least he was wearing a set of soft robes — he distinctly remembered that Harry had mentioned being naked the first time he died. He wondered if that had been the case the second time around too. The thought made his cock twitch. It was reassuring to know that that could happen in death, too.

 

He could see someone walking towards him in the distance. As the figure got closer, it became more familiar, and soon Draco found himself staring into familiar green eyes. A familiar strong hand reached out and pulled him to his feet, drawing him into a tight hug.

 

"Draco, you brave, brave man," Harry murmured, carding his hand through Draco's hair.

 

"Harry. Am I dead?"

 

Harry pulled back from their hug and nodded. "This is your crossing. I'm not sure what it looks like for you, apparently it's different for everyone."

 

"It looks like King’ss Cross," Draco said. "Just like you told me."

 

Harry chuckled. "I guess I might have ruined it for you then. Sorry, love." He placed a quick peck on Draco's lips, and after having missed him for the last three days, Draco felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Oh, wait.

 

"So is this eternity?" Draco asked, looking around. "Just you and me at the train station?"

 

Harry smiled. "Personally, I wouldn't mind. But no, like I said, this is your crossing. You have to make a choice."

 

"I have a say in whether I've died or not?"

 

"Well, not exactly. You're dead for sure. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. But you have the choice to go back to Earth, as a ghost." Harry looked down at his feet as he said this, and Draco got the feeling that Harry didn't want him to pick that option at all.

 

"What do you think?" he asked, lifting Harry's chin with his finger.

 

"I'm not supposed to influence your decision," he mumbled. Draco burst out laughing.

 

"Since when do you care about rules like that?" he demanded. "At least explain to me what the difference is."

 

"Well, you know that ghosts can move around the world, talk to people. You're not tied to a specific location, so you could go where you want. Visit the kids, you know." Draco's eyes widened at that. The kids. He could go back to his children, the pride and joy of his life. Despite the worried look on Harry's face, the option was temping.

 

"Don't go back," Harry whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "I know you want to, I know you're scared. But I'm begging you, don't."

 

"Why not?" Draco asked curiously.

 

"Because I'll never see you again." Draco's heart plummeted. How could he chose between his husband and his kids?

 

"Harry... I don't want to lose you again. But... the kids..."

 

"They're old, Draco. Almost as old as us. It'll be a few decades at most, before they join us here. But if you go back, you're there forever. Even after they're gone, you can never come back."

 

Harry's reminder of rationality seemed to ground Draco. With a sigh, he leaned into his husband. "Then I'll stay with you. I can't imagine eternity without you."

 

"Me either," Harry replied. They stood there, holding each other for what felt like a few more minutes, though Draco couldn't be sure of time in the afterlife. He made a mental note to ask Harry about that later. They finally broke apart, Harry taking Draco's hand and leading him down the platform. As they walked towards the mist, Harry mentioned that their parents were waiting for him. 

 

"Both of our parents?" He smiled when Harry nodded happily. "I'm glad. I'd like to meet your parents."

 

"They're great," Harry said softly. "Dad keeps teasing Mum that he can't leave her side, since they were buried together."

 

Draco stopped walking, a look of horror on his face. "Wait. So does that mean I'll have to spend the rest of eternity at my parents' side?" 

 

Harry turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

 

"If I'm buried with them... I have to stay with them?"

 

Harry frowned. "Did you leave a request to be buried at the Manor?"

 

"No, but I'm assuming that's where they'll put me," Draco shrugged.

 

"You're supposed to be in Hogsmeade, with me," Harry said firmly. "That was the only reason I agreed to be buried in Hogsmeade at all, let alone with that ridiculously large memorial."

 

He reached across Draco to a newspaper stand that he was sure hadn't been there a moment ago, and picked up a copy of the paper. The headline read  _ "Potter-Malfoy memorial completed in Hogsmeade after sudden passing of Draco Potter-Malfoy." _

 

"I thought they wouldn't..." Draco trailed off, staring at the paper Harry had just handed to him.

 

"Look at your arm," Harry said gently. Shaking, Draco pulled his sleeve up to find that his left arm was clean. There was no sign of the mark on his silvery flesh. He looked up in surprise, suddenly realising that Harry didn't have his scar either.

 

"You've been forgiven," Harry said with a soft smile. "You were brave enough to take that mark for love, and the universe forgave it. Now, if the universe wanted you to be at peace, what chance do a few protesters have?"

 

Draco grinned, putting the paper back on the stand. "Looks like you're stuck with me for eternity, Potter."

 

Harry huffed. "It's been 100 years and you still can't remember that it's Potter-Malfoy, you tosser. And anyways, the whole stuck-with-the-people-you're-buried-with nonsense is just one of Dad's jokes. He leaves Mum behind to go bug Snape with Remus and Sirius all the time," Harry shrugged.

 

Draco couldn't help laughing at that. He was sure that soon enough Harry would be joining the Marauders quite often, if he hadn't been already. He realised that suddenly, Harry had everything he had missed out on as a child. He could imagine an eternity of late nights by the fire with Lily and James, dinners with his parents and Severus as they had done when he was young. In due time, he'd be able to introduce his children to his parents too. But the best part of being here was standing right in front of him, watching him as if he could never stop looking. He reached out for Harry's hands, which prompted his husband to speak.

 

"Yesterday, at the cemetery, you said that you hoped my soul was free. I'm sorry to say that it wasn't. It was being tormented at the fact that we had been separated. But it's free now. I've found my peace, with you." 

 

Harry leaned in to kiss Draco, and as their lips touched, the mist around them thickened until Draco could feel himself become part of the nothingness. But he could also feel Harry, surrounding him with his love, and suddenly, he wasn't focused on his fear. Draco finally knew what it was to be brave.

 

_ fin. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's misquoted quote was originally said by Mahatma Gandhi.


End file.
